marshal slate. d4. fin.

When the Slates enrolled their only son into the career training academy, they were surprised to hear him complain. "I thought you wanted to be great?" They said. Little Marshal could think of a million other ways to become great, none of which involved holding swords and lifting weights. They were forced to convince him with treats and lectures about the benefits. He would be respected, popular, and nobody could ever make fun of him. As a social butterfly, Marshal glued himself to that ideal.

Unfortunately, no journey was without struggle. Marshal was the shortest kid in the academy, and never truly hit the growth spurt everyone promised. Fully grown, he stood at 5 foot 5, a feature he sulked about for years until he found a way to kill it with confidence. He was short, but he was fast and acrobatic. He could use knives, daggers, and light weapons with ease - it was impressive enough to compensate for his height, and enough to allow his ego to climb out of its grave. There was nothing to be ashamed about now; he was a career and he was amazing.

His parents were pleased to hear him bragging rather than sulking. He talked himself up constantly - about his friends, his abilities, how unique he was. Who else could say they were as short and deadly as he was? Nobody! He was also charismatic, and charmed himself into several superficial friend groups. Other careers enjoyed his flattery and liveliness, even if some of it was forced. Most careers didn't care about a facade - it was all about status anyway. Marshal found himself succeeding in the social aspect.

The sad part was, shallow friendships couldn't sustain him for very long. The older he grew, the more he craved true relationships rather than numbers. He managed to narrow his pool of friends into those he could trust, and those who could appreciate him despite his smug attitude. It wasn't as if Marshal had zero redeeming qualities; he was a sweet boy at heart, and welcoming to most strangers. If they put forth the effort to be kind, he would always return that kindness. He wasn't a spiteful person - mostly - just a little conceited.

It was easy to sit through the reapings as a career. He had no intention of volunteering, but he was confident he could succeed if his name was called. However, he preferred to remain in District Four. His life was going in a smooth, uphill trend toward happiness. His parents were bursting with pride about their son's combat prowess, even if he wasn't the greatest in his class. All they wanted was confidence in his security. He could defend himself, and he could survive. They never once believed Marshal was suited for the Hunger Games, but they could sleep at night knowing his chances were greatly improved.

As much as he loved his parents, Marshal craved freedom. His life was running in a smooth, uphill direction toward happiness, so he eventually moved out. He clung to his close knit friend group and found himself a job. It wasn't the dream job just yet, but it was something. He wasn't really sure what his dream job was. He enjoyed cooking, drawing, picking out cute clothes, and conversations. Was it possible for a district Four to become a fashion designer? Well, if anyone could make it possible, it would be me! Am I right or am I right? He always had an eye for aesthetics, after all.

Figuring out his place in the world was the next step. Taking it day by day seemed like the healthiest way to go about it. Wake up, brew a hot cup of coffee, and plan for the rest. If he wasn't at the cafe, he was training at the gym or adding more clothes to his wardrobe. He might set aside a day or two for parties. He wasn't the wildest kid on the block, and preferred coffee and sweets to alcohol, but he loved the atmosphere. Lights, music, new faces - plenty of chances to make new friends and talk himself up. The only drawback was how he came across to some people. Sometimes he could be too flirtatious, and fail to realize that he was not being well received. After all, he was as cute as a marshmallow, who wouldn't adore him?

Not that he hasn't had arguments before. If he happened to take issue with somebody, he didn't hesitate to admit it. Usually it was those who wronged him in some way. Impolite people. He couldn't stand them, but if they apologized and admitted that they were wrong, everything would be okay!

"As long as you admit that you're wrong and I'm perfect, it's water under the bridge!"

He knew he was the angel of the century. People just haven't realized it yet.